


Lion’s Share

by Puppytooth



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Castle AU, F/M, Modern AU, Other minor characters - Freeform, Probably Abandoned, Story within a Story, Writer AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-26 17:46:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30109695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Puppytooth/pseuds/Puppytooth
Summary: If you look at this from a distance it’s a Castle AU.I have no idea where I was going with this.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 3
Kudos: 22





	Lion’s Share

====  
The rain bounced hard on the dark city streets. The yellow streetlights lit the puddles in the pavement as though they were spotlights on a stage. King’s hair was soaked and hung limply around his shoulders like a spoiled wet lettuce leaf that should have been thrown out. If it hadn’t been raining as hard he would have had big wet patches on his shoulders from his hair, but as it was, he was soaked to the skin in his white tshirt. If he was a woman on spring break, he could have entered the wet tshirt contest, and would probably have won. 

He was carrying a small, slightly wilted bunch of lavender stalks, held together with an elastic band. He knew that they were Fyra’s favourites, and she was his favourite wild Fyra. 

He made his way to her building, and pressed the buzzer. And again. And again. Nobody answered. They probably knew it was him. The security guard looked at him through the window from his office and shook his head. No chance of convincing him tonight.

He walked back down the stone steps and out into the middle of the road. Looking up, he shouted at the top of his lungs: FYRA MY FYRA LET ME IN!

No answer. One of the lower floors’ curtains moved, and a light switched off in one of the windows of the next building. 

This time he bellowed at the top of his lungs, not caring that he looked like a madman.  
FYRA. FYRA COME OUT NOW. DON’T MAKE ME BURN THEM.

It wasn’t the first time he’d threatened to burn her building down so she would come outside and see him. He had made a habit of worming his way back into her life every time she tried to cut him out. She couldn’t leave him. He wouldn’t let her.

I’LL BURN THEM ALL MY WILD FYRA, I’LL BURN THEM IN THEIR BEDS. 

The security guard stood in his office and started to make his way towards him. King was focussed solely on Fyra’s windows, but now he had the security guard’s attention. 

He heard footsteps behind him, turning he recognised one of his friends. He knew that Fyra would open the door for him, he knew that she trusted him. His gut told him they were something more. She was unfaithful. His Fyra. Nobody else’s. He threw the flowers to the ground, stamping on their wet petals.  
“You! You took her from me! She’s MINE. I’ll burn them all, Leo, I’ll burn them all, and I’ll burn you.”  
He reached for his gun. He’d planted tanks of gas around the building weeks ago in secret, knowing that he would one day need to make good on his threats of fire and blood. As he aimed at the nearest tank he dropped his weapon. He was bleeding. He looked down, hot black blood spewing from his throat, turning his wet white shirt red. Leo had betrayed him. His second in command. His trusted lieutenant.  
King fell to his knees, then to the floor.  
Everything went black. 

Leo stood with the bloody knife in his hand, staining his white jacket. Slowly, Fyra emerged from the car where she had been hiding - she fell to her knees and wept. Slowly Fyra—-  
===

“Excuse me, Mr Lannister?”

Jaime looked up from the page and peered over his reading glasses to see who’d interrupted his reading. A woman with a mousy brown topknot was holding her hand in the air, biting her lip waiting for his attention. 

“Uh it’s Jaime, and please go ahead,” he said with a smile, closing the paperback with his finger between the pages. He’d been answering questions about his first book for years, and wondered if he’d be answering the first original question about his work for longer than he could remember.

“So um I was wondering. The scene you just read, with the body and the flowers, is there any meaning to the flowers you chose? Like, I know there used to be flower messages, but I looked it up and lavender means _devotion_. So when King drops the bouquet is he also letting go of his devotion to Fyra?” 

“That is an excellent question miss…?” He was stalling for time to think of an answer that was more interesting than the truth, which was that lavender was his ex-wife’s favourite scent, and he’d included it just to show he was actually listening when he told her these things. Not that _she_ ever picked up on it, of course. 

“You can call me Pia” she replied with a smile, playing with the end of her sleeve.

“Well, Pia.” He removed his glasses, folded them, and put them in his jacket pocket. “That’s a question I’d want the reader to ask themselves. Does his destructive devotion to Fyra come down to a bunch of flowers, lost on the pavement? Do we feel sadness when King is taking his final breaths, or do we see his obsession with Fyra for what it really is?”

The audience murmured and nodded as though considering his questions. A few hands started to raise around the group gathered in the bookshop. “Yes, in the blue sweater just there?”

The woman in the blue sweater smiled to her friend next to her “Is the fact that it starts to rain when Fyra sees King’s body a metaphor for the tears she was hiding earlier in the book?” 

Ah the metaphoric rain question. Again. He owes Margaery five Dragons.

“Another great question there, yes it symbolises how she doesn’t need to hide her emotions now King is dead.”

A voice, his publicist, called out from somewhere on his right - “any more questions while we’re paused?”

“I have one”

A voice from the back of the room. He looked around the faces in the audience to see who was addressing him. A blonde woman in a shirt who looked like she’d just stepped out of a meeting, odd as they were in a bookshop past 8pm. He was almost tempted to put his glasses back on to get a closer look at her  
.  
He smiled politely “Sure, by all means” putting a folded-up event flyer into the well-thumbed book. 

“My name is Detective Tarth with the King’s Landing Police Department - where were you between the hours of 10pm to 2am last night?”

Wait. What?

“Mr Lannister? I’d prefer to continue this conversation down at the precinct, do you want to come willingly or do I need to place you under arrest?”

The crowd in the book signing were murmuring, gasping, and stealing furtive glances at him. A good 75% of them were taking out their smartphones. At least 3 had been filming the reading and Jaime really really hoped they hadn’t been live-streaming. The last thing he needed was his arrest being broadcast on Instaraven. 

“Oh there’s no need for that detective. Sorry folks, looks like our party’s ended, but we’ll make up for it another time. Margaery - can you please arrange another one of these gatherings for these lovely people? Looks like I have a date with Detective Tarth here.”

He took his glasses back out of his pocket, wanting to see her face clearly. The woman who interrupted one of his favourite hobbies - being adored by his fans. 

Her face intrigued him. Her nose had been broken at least twice - he recognised the shape from where his own hadn’t set properly - and she had a small scar on her lip… But her eyes? They made his breath catch in his throat, his eyes sort-of squint slightly as though he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. 

He couldn’t have been looking at her for more than a second or two, she was already turning towards the door, the tips of her ears flushing slightly as the smartphone cameras turned their attention to her. 

No doubt she would be all over Varys’ gossip sites within minutes. He was used to it, smiling and waving politely as he followed her to the patrol car parked outside, but as she opened the car door for him he could see that she was flushed, slightly blotchy, and her jaw was set. 

Nerves.

As soon as she closed the door behind him he could see reflections of camera flashes from behind the car. In no time at all she was in the driver’s seat, starting the car, and taking him away.

Jaime relaxed as best he could in the back seat of the patrol car, trying not to think of what had previously happened in the seat. 

For some reason, no matter how much he tried to remember, it was stuck on the tip of his tongue. 

Where _had_ he been between 10pm and 2am, and why were the police involved?


End file.
